Page 6 of Dirty Boss

The stain on the carpet stared at me, and I could almost hear it laughing.

Without connections and money, I was nothing. I could hardly take care of myself. I was a terrible cook and a worse cleaner. Navigating insurance and utilities and leases had almost made my head explode. Without the insulation of my parents’ wealth, it was plainly obvious how useless a human I really was.

I couldn’t even get a stain out of a carpet.

Would this be my tenth firing? Would whatever bigwig who kept the messy desk walk in and decide to call the cleaning company to get rid of the faceless cleaner that he’d never interacted with because of a stainhe’dmade?

I’d have to save every penny from the restaurant if I wanted to cover rent and bills and hope that I could steal a few fries from the expo line to feed myself during my shifts.

The heat built up in my chest, and I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them again, I stared out the tinted windows at the silent winter beyond. This far up, the snowflakes whirled and danced, caught up in the various wind currents swirling betweenhigh-rise buildings. Night blanketed the city, lights dotting the skyline like glittering jewels.

I thought of the men at lunch today, and I gritted my teeth. They found it so easy to speak down to me. One of them enjoyed watching me squirm in the face of his advances, and the other took every opportunity to remind me how small and pathetic I really was.

How dare they.

Anger sizzled through me, chasing away the chill of desperation. When my eyes landed on the stained carpet again, I couldn’t help the hiss that slipped through my clenched teeth.

What did I care if I got fired? I’d pick up more shifts at the restaurant. I’d find a way.

I wouldnotgo back to my parents. Not after what they’d said to me. After how they’d treated me. And I would not let yet another man make me feel worthless and small and useless.

Sheer, pathological stubbornness was the only thing that had gotten me through this past year. It would see me through whatever came.

Marching to the mess on the desk, I glanced at the single framed photo of a little girl, and I huffed. I bet he loved looking like a family man, but how often did he see his kid? Was she growing up like I had, with all the privilege in the world and not an ounce of real affection?

If I lost my job for this, it would be worth it. I snatched one of the papers from the stack on the leftmost edge of his desk, flipped it over, and grabbed the first pen I found.

TWO

VAUGHN

I shovedmy tie into my pocket and shouldered my way through the front door of my Upper West Side townhome. Another investor had passed on the company, which meant I’d have to go begging again. My construction company was stagnating. Stagnation was as good as shrinking, and shrinking was as good as failure.

Failure was unacceptable.

It was only one of my companies, but I couldn’t bear the thought of failure. Most of my fortune had been made off a patent for a specific type of scaffolding connection. From there, I’d grown my one-man-van general contracting business to a multimillion-dollar corporation. Now I had the construction business, the patent money, an equipment rental company, and a labor hire company. If the construction business plateaued or even collapsed, it would be a rounding error in my total wealth.

But I couldn’t let it happen. It wasn’t about the money. It was about achievement. About controlling every possible outcome to make sure that me and mine were always taken care of. No matter what. To give my people the stability I’d never had.

And to do that, I needed an in. I needed someone who moved in circles above my own, who had politicians’ ears, who would introduce me to the true power brokers of the city.

Thenmy future—and my daughter’s—would be secure.

“Daddy!” a familiar little voice called out moments before the pitter-patter of a five-year-old sprinting echoed down the hall.

I dropped my laptop bag and knelt. Charlotte collided with me, her little arms circling my neck. I stood as her legs hooked around my waist, squeezing me tight with all the love in her little frame. Her hair was wet and she was in her PJs. She smelled like overly fruity hair products, and she held onto me like she never wanted to let go.

Charlotte was the reason I did this. The reason Ikeptdoing this.

I’d bought this four-bedroom townhome before Charlotte existed—before her mother and I even knew each other—and spent a year and a half renovating it into the light-filled beauty it was now. It was in a good school district, and I’d imagined a wife and multiple kids filling the rooms with life and joy.

I hadn’t imagined being a single dad and only getting snippets of time with my daughter two weeks at a time when I had custody of her, carving out evenings and weekends in between trying to grow the company and solidify my legacy. Lately, it felt like my snippets of time with her were getting shorter and shorter—something my ex-wife loved to point out. She didn’t tend to point out that my work was what let her live in a paid-off house with a lifestyle multiple levels above what she and her new husband would be able to afford without me.

But even with everything else I’d accomplished, being a father was the best thing I’d ever done.

“Hey, turkey. Did you have fun with Billie?”

“We made a fort! Come see!” She wriggled until I let her down, then clamped a hand on my wrist and towed me deeper into our home.